


We keep living anyway

by EmmaAelin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Arranged Marriage, Consensual Infidelity, Dysfunctional Family, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Families of Choice, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Incest, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Games, Mix of book and show, Moving On, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Teen Pregnancy, Past Underage, Rare Pairings, Rhaenyra and Laenor were a match made in Seven Hells, Second Chances, Slow Build, Some Humor, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Suicidal Thoughts, Surprise appearances, Targaryens are not human, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, dark themes, not for the fans of Rhaegar, someone should invent therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-10 03:53:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12903429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaAelin/pseuds/EmmaAelin
Summary: Seventeen years after Robert´s Rebellion, there are still depts left to pay and questions left to answer. Where lies the line between justice and vengeance? What is a rightful punishment for an unimaginable crime? Is there ever too late to start again? Are those who are broken destined to remain broken forever?Rhaenys Targaryen finds herself faced with the painful consequences of her father´s betrayal - and the darkness inside her. Renly Baratheon struggles with keeping the past at bay, while trying to build a better future. Rhaenyra Targaryen finds a new hope - but is it strong enough to free her from the prison of her own making? The fate has changed, but for the better or for worse?ON HIATUS!





	1. Prologue: Once upon a time

**Author's Note:**

> It has been five years since i wrote the first drafts of this story. Since then I have gone to college, dropped out of asoiaf fandom, gotten ill, dropped out of the college, tried to get a job, failed to get a job, returned to asoiaf fandom and returned to college to study a completely different subject. Somehow i found my way back here and decided to try again. This chapter is very short, a much longer one is almost finished. Enjoy!

Once upon a time lived a princess – just as sweet, beautiful and talented as princesses in the songs have always been. Her father – the Silver Prince – doted on his only daughter, fulfilling even her smallest desire and spending hours upon hours telling her about the wondrous future waiting for her. He called her _Rhaenys_.

Something that never failed to make her mother cringe, for had both Rhaenyses before her died a tragic and untimely death? But it was so like Rhaegar to overlook such an insignificant detail in his grand plan, and since there were no wars to fight and no dragons to fall off, perhaps her daughter _was_ going to survive. Her mother had little patience for prophecies and what they involved. Elia Martell was a practical woman who preferred thinking to dreaming and expected Rhaenys to follow her lead.

Oh, and as in any aspiring fairytale, there was also a prince. A little boy with bright eyes and even brighter smile, named _Renly_ by the parents he had never known and consequentially never given much thought about. Though technically not _yet_ a prince – he was bound to become one after marrying the princess, once they were both grown, something that was not to happen in many years, as they were both still children – but still as close to one as humanly possible. Following the King´s orders, they were being raised as a brother and sister instead of the cousins they technically were – it would only be _proper_ in a family with a long tradition of incest. Both were dark-haired, light-hearted and utterly devoted to each other. Nothing was ever going to threaten their happiness.

Unfortunately, the world they lived in was not a fairytale, but rather a tale of terror, as it became clear sooner than anyone could have expected, to the unimaginable horror of all involved. Mistakes were made, blood was shed, and peace was lost forever.

In another life, the princess died young – stabbed half a hundred times by a monster wearing human skin and a Lannister uniform, another innocent casualty in a horrible war – and the prince never even met her. But in this life, her fate was different – maybe kinder, maybe even crueller, either way _different_ – and she managed to save herself, though for a price. Her story went on. For we keep living anyway.


	2. 17 years later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can´t run from what is inside your head

When  the whispers of the Usurper´s  intent to travel North to ask  Eddard Stark to be his new Hand  reached her on what had until then been a rather uneventful late-summer afternoon ,  Nyssë found herself intrigued. That was bound to be the start of  _something_ .  In a life that was slowly becoming devoid of  hope , the death of Jon Arryn had been a very welcome change.

To  say that there had been no love lost between her and the former Hand would´ve been a gross understatement. She had hated his fucking guts,  right from the start . 

  


_Seventeen years…_ Seventeen years had passed from when she had, over the course of one day, lost her family, her sanity, her innocence and her future. And she still remembered every minute, every detail of it. Robert Baratheon lounging on the Iron Throne like he owned the world, the satisfaction on his face and the _blood_. So much blood… She had screamed until her voice was hoarse, screamed and screamed… but he had kept smiling.  Like there was nothing more pleasant than the disfigured corpses of a baby and a woman whose only mistake had been marrying into the wrong family.

Jon Arryn had stood by his side, looking only a little less pleased. How very convenient for them, have both the king and the heir already dead. No need to get blood on their hands.

She had wanted to kill him, kill them all, but ser Jaime had grabbed both her hands and hold her, refusing to let go no matter how hard she kicked him.  _You must live. Your mother gave up her only chance to escape for a glimmer of hope that you will survive. The vengeance can wait._

Rhaenys did not have many memories of the months that had followed, of being locked in a small cell with nothing but her despair and the cruelty of Lannister soldiers for company. She had wished for death to end the waking nightmare her life had turned into. Her parents were dead, Aegon was dead, Viserys was gone, and she had been denied the throne on the ground of being a female… making Robert Baratheon the rightful heir and her a prisoner. How fucking _convenient_.  She had cried for Renly – they had never been apart before, twins in all but name – fearing that he will forget about her. Or worse, that either Tywin Lannister or the Usurper himself would have him killed for being a nuisance. The world no longer had any use for them, children of the fallen dynasty, not even human where it counted, even if they bled just the same (even _Aerys_ had bled, despite all his claims of being above such things. ). She was never going to see the sunlight again.

  


She had been wrong. The world had not been in a hurry to forget about her after all. Nyssë didn´t know all the details, had in fact learnt most of the story only several years later, piece by piece, from contradicting sources.  But the rough draft of it was:

Her uncles had made it clear that there will never be as much as _negotiations,_ as long as their niece, only living reminder of their beloved sister, is being kept a prisoner. The Targaryens had never managed to conquer Dorne, and they´d had _dragons_. Robert Baratheon had only human soldiers, sick and tired of the war they no longer saw a point of, now that the Mad King was dead. Would it really be worth it? All they wished was for Nyssë to be allowed to live in her mother´s homeland, where she would be loved and cared for.

The Usurper had almost agreed. As far as he was concerned, she was welcome to go to Hell if it meant never dealing with her again, and to take Renly with her, as he saw nothing Baratheon in him. _Dragonspawn_. Her sweet, well-mannered brother had refused to as much as to speak with the so-called _King_ , prompting the man to have him confined to his room as a punishment. Robert´s fury had been a terrible thing to beheld, many had been afraid that he may eventually _kill_ Renly in his anger, given how hard he had hit him when Renly told him that it should have been _Robert_ who died at the Trident. It was for the best to keep them as far away from each other as possible.

But Jon Arryn had refused categorically. As the last Targaryen, she was a constant threat to the new regime, it would have been unthinkable to allow her uncles to have the custody of her. There were still too many dragon loyalists running free, who would jump to the chance to attempt to crown the daughter of their beloved Silver Prince. She should be given to the Faith to solve the problem forever, same being Renly´s fate if he refuses to learn some respect. Robert was to be married soon and he already had one brother, there was no need to keep another possible heir around, especially one bound to cause problems.

The turn of the year saw the appearance of _Stannis_ Baratheon, along with the news of more death and the third choice. Since Viserys had managed to escape, it suddenly became even more important to keep her around – but not as a mistreated prisoner, but as a ward of the Crown. The Targaryen name still held some loyalty – loyalty that had to be kept away from the last male heir of their dying house. Targaryen bannermen needed something else to focus to – so why not give them back their little princess? Made harmless by stripping her of her family´s fortunes, confining her to Dragonstone with armed guards ordered to kill her at the first attempt to escape and marrying her to the third son of a lord who inherited nothing but the name he hates, she would make a perfect Lady of Dragonstone. As long as she is being kept in relative comfort, no one will have a reason to rebel. (They really had known nothing about her or Targaryen women in general. Dragons do not take kindly of being used and abused.)

At that point, she would´ve gladly agreed to almost anything, if it meant getting Renly back and going home. So what if she almost collapsed under the weight of her bridal cloak and the man giving her away was the one that had killed her father? She was Rhaenys Targaryen, the Princess of Dragonstone, and she was going to _survive,_ Robert and Jon Arryn and everyone else to be damned. They would pay for everything, even if it kills her.

  


Jon Arryn...how delightfully furious he had been, when Robert had, secure in his power after successfully defeating the Ironborn and wishing to demonstrate his benevolent nature, revoked her confinement and, as an act of ultimate goodwill, offered Renly a place at the Small Council (but not before disinheriting him and stripping him of the name that had never really been his to begin with, since Robert was not to risk with even the smallest chance of a _dragonspawn_ inheriting the throne. If Renly continued to refuse to acknowledge Robert as his brother, then he had no right for the Baratheon name either.). According to the toothless old goat, they were spiteful, foolish, ill-raised children who should not be trusted with anything, let alone matters of the Realm. Strong words from a man whose precious foster son the Usurper hardly ever had time between drinking and whoring to attend council meetings.

  


At twenty-three, Rhaenys was generally pleased with herself. She had beauty, wits, power, husband who shared both her bed and hatred, the love of her family, useful connections and a large amount of patience. The soldiers who had abused her were long dead – one by one, they had been found drowned in their own blood, throat ripped out. No one had blinked an eye – the people of King´s Landing had not forgotten the sack, they were neither the first nor the last ones to meet their end in the hands of their victims. It was the way life was – you either kill or get killed.

  


Eddard Stark.  _Well, then._ She knew little of the reclusive  L ord of Winterfell, other that he had been fostered by Jon Arryn, was friends with Robert and had lost almost his whole family  to the same war that had robb ed Nyssë of hers. A plain, brown-haired young man standing the other side of Robert, trying to talk him into showing some  kindness to her .  O ther than ser Jaime, who ´d spent the next few months at the black cells for his efforts, he had been the only one who cared. 

She had never seen him again – she had heard that he had been in King´s Landing once more, after returning from Dorne with the bones of his sister who had allegedly died of fever. Seventeen years, and she was still as far from uncovering the whole story behind Lyanna Stark´s death. You don´t just catch a lethal fever out of blue, at the age of fifteen, in Dorne, locked in a tower surrounded by half of the Kingsguard. Nyssë wasn´t entirely sure why she bothered, somehow it just felt important to find proof that her father had not been directly responsible for her untimely demise by _“raping her to death”_ as Robert loved to claim. But so far all the possible leads they´d had had led them nowhere. To her better knowledge, Lyanna Stark could have just as likely faked her death, committed suicide, died in some sort of an accident or even had been murdered by her own brother in an attempt to restore their family´s honor. 

After their last failed investigation, Renly had  suggested that perhaps they should let it go – so many years  had passed, whatever happened to the Stark girl  was unlikely to have any impact on their future.  But it kept gnawing at her – why had she been so important to father, important enough to ignite a rebellion – because there was no way he had expected both Robert Baratheon and the Starks to just let it go – and doom his family to suffering and death?

I f there were anyone still alive in this world who knew the truth, it would be  Lyanna Stark´s surviving brothers, ranger of the Night´s Watch and the Lord of Winterfell. Her sources described the first as a dutiful, quiet and somewhat reclusive man, who had joined at a very young age for reasons known to only himself.  _Maybe quilt?_ _For allowing his sister to be taken, or…?_ Anyway, she  was more likely to have any luck with the older brother.  A trip to Winterfell would  kill several  birds with one  stone – she could meet Lord Stark  and try to get a hold on him ,  explore North , and on her way back, visit great-great-granduncle Aemon  and some other allies  at the Wall (and if Benjen Stark just  _happened_ to be there… well, then she was lucky).  And find the meaning of that damn dream.

  


# # #

  


“You know, one of these days someone is going to catch you with a book and discover your dirty little secret.”

Renly cursed silently as he was forced to climb beneath the table to pick up the book he had accidentally dropped while trying to stuff it beneath the paperwork. Only two people had the habit of marching into his office uninvited and it was too early in the morning to deal with the fit Stannis would inevitably throw, should he catch him reading poetry instead of whatever pointless rapport he was supposed to write. As if Robert would care, or be sober enough to read it. Whatever, if Robert intended to drink himself to death even faster than originally planned, good for him. No one would shed a tear.

Nyssë, very much amused by his bad mood, gave him a wide, toothy grin… one that the court never saw. While the people at Dragonstone loved them just the way they were, society in general was another matter. People may have heard whispered tales about the unnaturalness of the Targaryen blood, but it made them uncomfortable to be faced with physical evidence. Robert, who despised any hints to the magical part of his heritage and frowned upon those who were undeniably valyrian, had made it _fashionable_ to be human... Or at least pretend to be one. According to Rhaenyra, he was no more human than Nyssë or Shireen or Renly himself, just because he looked and acted the part. Two generations of human predecessors would wash the dragon blood out of someone just as effectively as being bathed in a rosewater would wash the stink of sin out of a whore.

Renly´s own magic had manifested later than Nyssë´s and fortunately in a less flashy matter. He was charming… no, _enchanting_. Robert was charming, on a good day and with people he bothered to even pretend to care about. It was another thing to have a charm that wrapped itself around the chosen victim like a second skin, gently pushing them to the direction you wanted them to go and keeping them away from the things they had no business poking their noses into. As long as he didn´t squeeze too hard…hard enough to reduce their bones to powder and their blood to vapor. Renly imagined that it must feel agonizing – but no less than the man, who had raped and murdered his mother and Gods only knew how many other people, deserved. _Soon_.

“That I can _read_? Very funny, Nyssë. I´d hate to disappoint you, but I expect everyone to know by now that I am indeed literate. They just like to believe that _you_ are the one who does all the work, while I look pretty and pretend to know nothing.”

“As if I had time for it.” Still smiling, Nyssë snatched the book from his hand and tossed it under the table. She had no stomach for either music or poetry – things that reminded her far too much of their late, hatred father, who had revelled in both.

“I wasn´t expecting you until next week...not that I am complaining.” His sister was his favourite companion. Nyssë had a tongue as sharp as her teeth, loved everything new and interesting and was one of the very few people he did not have to pretend with. “Did Lord Monford cancel the meeting?

Nyssë shook her head. “Nyra offered to stand in for me. Apparently there was something she wanted to discuss with him, so I was free to come to see you instead.”

“Rather with him _and_ Aurane.” More often than not, the bastard of Driftmark accompanied his half-brother to Dragonstone, _especially_ when he knew that it was Rhaenyra who would welcome them. Lord Monford was glad about it, because frankly, she terrified him to the core. Renly was hardly one to judge – at times, she terrified him too, and she had been a mother to him for most of his life.

“ _And_ Aurane. I feel sorry for him, because what he wants could never be.” What Aurane wanted was Rhaenyra, who was more likely to stab him than to give into his advances. Nyssë had offered to sleep with him once, out of compassion, to get his mind away from his impossible love for a woman who would never choose him, but had been turned down for the first time in her life. He liked his women fair-haired and older. His loss.

“The girls are visiting Myrcella and Tommen, but Daeron wished to stay at Dragonstone to keep Shireen´s company. She´s been getting worse.” Shireen had been a sweet, seemingly healthy baby, who had grown into an equally sweet, but frail girl. There were times when she was too exhausted and in too much pain to even get out of the bed, let alone run around and play. His niece spend most of her time at Dragonstone where the air was clearer, dreaming of adventures.

“Maybe it´s because of that, but Shireen told me that Nyra has been acting strange.”

“Nyra has always been strange, it´s part of her charm. Don´t tell me that you are encouraging an eleven-years old to spy after her mother?” Rhaenyra was unhinged – spending several lifetimes in a self-imposed confinement watching generation after generation of her descendants die in different horrific manners would do that to someone, even if that person hadn´t been two steps from madness to begin with.

“Shireen will be twelve in a week – she is more than old enough to understand the way things are. And I am not. Shireen was the one to ask for my advice. She is concerned. According to her, Nyra has been at the sept, _praying_. She never leaves the castle , let alone to pray to the Gods that cursed her. And she has started to talk to that damned portrait again, like it was alive. Like _he_ was  still alive.”

Renly had no need to ask who _“he”_ was. For as long as he remembered, Rhaenyra had been strangely obsessed with her first husband, Laenor Velaryon. It had only grown, as the circumstances had started to slowly wither her romance with Stannis. It hadn´t been easy, growing up with someone who spent days and weeks lost in a world that was no longer, in the company of people who had been dead for longer than he or Nyssë had been alive. Rhaenyra had tried, but her grip on reality was doubtful at best, slipping whenever something triggered her. He had believed that she was doing better – or perhaps he had just hoped so, terrified that there would come a time she won´t return to them.

“Perhaps that´s what she wished to see Lord Monford for – to see Laenor´s portrait returned to where it belongs. And maybe she has taken up praying in hopes that the Gods will grant her a son for her piety. She would hardly be the first to try it after running out of other ideas.” Stannis had no heirs. Were Nyra to give him a son, Stannis could try to convince the king to have his children legitimated – Robert would rather have a former bastard from unknown mother inherit Storm´s End than Renly´s children. And it would secure dowry for the girls, once they are old enough to marry.

“Maybe I should join her then. It´s been a year, and still – nothing. Makes me wonder.”

“You are only twenty-three.” Father had died at twenty-four, mother at twenty-seven. Renly had just turned twenty-five. It gave him chills to think that it won´t be long before he and Nyssë have outlived them both. How fucking _short_ their lives really had been. “There is still enough time.”

“Perhaps, but sometimes it feels more like forty-three. A prisoner of war at five, a wife at seven, a mother at twelve and a ruler at sixteen… What is there still left to look forward to, besides revenge?”

“The throne?”

“A hopeless dream that died with father.” Like most of her dreams. Were Rhaegar still alive, Renly would kill him himself for what he did to Nyssë, for what he had allowed to do to her. His sister had started to break long before she had crossed paths with Amory Lorch.

“Run away with me. We could go somewhere far, far away, from where they could never find us and start over. Just you, me and the children.”

“Careful. What would happen, should I say _“yes”_ one day? Would you really leave Loras for me? You love him.”

“I love you too.” In the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms, they were the perfect couple, source of both praise and envy wherever they went. So beautiful, so glorious, so happy… if only.

“Not like this. Which is good, because it would only ruin our lives. Love is the death of duty.”

And duty was what had kept Nyssë from killing herself while he had been lost in his books, trying to forget. Teeth marks in various stages of healing all over her arms and wrists that no kind of training could explain… They may have left the Hell behind, but the demons had remained.

Yes, he loved Loras but Loras could never understand. Because to understand, he would have to know the truth… what could never happen. Perfect, golden, _human_ Loras, who had a normal, loving family and a great future ahead of him, did not belong to the shadows. Loras had fallen in love with a witty and charming prince who acted like the world had been created for his amusement only… how could he ever accept the other part of him that craved blood and knew hatred so strong that it could rot the very soul out of you? Loras would leave him, should he ever discover what he really was.

Nyssë had never said that she loves him – her feelings weren´t a subject she would willingly discuss. His sister had learnt early on to disguise them with teasing and occasional cruelty… so well that there were moments when even _he_ wondered whether or not she still felt  anything or he was a fool to love the empty shell of a girl who had died many years ago. He knew that Loras believed her to be heartless. According to his lover, she would be the death of him, one way or another. Renly didn´t care – if he was fated to die, he would die anyway, with or without her.

“Stannis wasn´t at the council meeting today.”

“Again?” Nyssë frowned. “I don´t recall him _ever_ skipping one before.“

“No one in King´s Landing has seen him since Jon Arryn´s death.”

“Nyra won´t like it. She thought that maybe he was too busy here to come to see the children… Perhaps he has fallen ill?”

“As if being on a deathbed would stop him from performing his duties. There is nothing Stannis loves more than duty.”

Renly´s relationship with Stannis was… complicated, to say the least. He had used to look up to his brother as a boy. Stannis had been a calming presence, level-headed and practical, something they had desperately needed after the hellish whirlwind of the war and its no less terrible aftermaths. Both he and Nyssë very likely owed him their _lives,_ for Renly could not imagine a positive outcome of their situation, had Stannis not agreed to take them in.

But as he had grown older, the relationship between them had started to sour, for far more reasons than one. Stannis resented the games he played, the men he fucked and the jewellery he wore, that he could never be the brother Stannis had _wished_ to have, someone who could live up to his standards the way Robert never had. And he, in turn, resented Stannis for choosing to make himself unhappy, over and over again, as if it would make him morally superior over everyone else. His brother was callous with Rhaenyra, unapproachable with Shireen and spent so little time with Rhaemma that Renly wasn´t sure whether or not the little girl even knew that Stannis was her father, since it were mostly her older siblings who raised her.

“I wouldn´t put it past Stannis to resign once and for all, as soon as he hears that Robert is planning to name Eddard Stark the new Hand.”

“You don´t approve.”

“It is one of the most foolish decisions I have ever seen him make, which says something. To name someone who lacks any kind of an experience about making the realm function as one, let alone has at least _some_ knowledge the inner workings of the court, who h as basically not even _left_ North in nearly two decades, the factual ruler of Seven Kingdoms, just because he is your _friend_ , reeks of a political catastrophe. l I will give Lord Stark three months before he runs screaming.” 

“Maybe, maybe not. According to my sources, Ned Stark has been doing a decent work as the Warden of the North, and what´s even more important – he actually _cares_ about his people. All he needs is some guidance.”

“He is Robert´s friend. _Robert´s. Friend.”_ All the help someone who willingly associated with Robert needed was having his mental health checked. Unless Robert had been a _very_ different person twenty years ago…

“And yet he chose to show kindness to me, even though he had far more reasons to hate Targaryens than Robert. Remember Rickard and Brandon Stark?”

“I do.” _A third of my nightmares are about them._ Aerys had insisted that it was educational – how a King should punish the traitors. Nyssë had bitten her wrist so hard to keep herself from screaming (something she knew he would punish her for. A dragon could not show weakness.) that the front of her yellow dress had been full of blood spots. He had cried the whole time – Aerys had never expected him to live up to same standards as Nyssë, due to his watered down blood and apparent humanity. _“A pity”_ , he would often say, _“but I have faith that we may still make a dragon out of you.”_ In Aerys´s twisted mind, being a dragon had meant being a monster. _(In that case, you succeeded. Hope you are happy now.)_ “Who says that he has not come to regret his decision? Maybe has come to hate you for being Rhaegar´s daughter..”

“That´s why we are going to meet him before he is officially named Hand. Should he reveal himself to be sympathetic to our plight – or at least neutral – we may gain yet another invaluable ally. If not… then he will _not_ become the Hand. Which, in turn, means that Robert would be forced to name Stannis, because the only other candidate would be Tywin Lannister, whom he  hates even more than he likes me. Either way, we win.” 

R enly just  _had_ to kiss her for that. His sister was right – the Warden of the North was too important of a potential ally to miss.  He could not see the man acting against Robert, but once he gets to know Joffrey who was already starting to make Aerys look almost kind and compassionate in comparison… everything was possible.

B ut he should not get his head ahead of the game. “And how do you propose we achieve all this?”

“Easy. We are going to join the royal party on their journey to Winterfell. I have always wanted to see the snow.” Nyssë, who during their conversation had subtly found her way to his lap, slide her fingers through his hair, making him shiver in anticipation. Renly loved his hair and kept it long and braided, ignoring Robert´s snide remarks about his masculinity.  It wasn´t blue-black like Nyssë´s, fine like raven feathers – a trait inherited from Betha Blackwood she shared with Shireen – but a usual, Baratheon black… well at least he wasn´t going bald before thirty like Stannis. “Imagine making love in a snow.”

“You would freeze blue. Like the Night´s Queen in father´s book.” Rhaegar had been fascinated with the legend of the Long Night. After his death, neither of them had wished to touch any of his books or scrolls. When Shireen and the twins had started to show an interest towards reading, Renly had just swept everything up and locked it away, never to be touched again. He could not force himself to destroy Rhaegar´s paperwork and whatever answers they may hide – neither would he allow anyone else´s mind to be poisoned the way his father´s had been.

“I won´t. And neither would you. It would make an excellent adventure – new scenery, new people, new foods, possible alliance… Just what we need.”

“I am too busy to spend months at the road with people I would rather avoid, getting dirty and eating bad food.”

“You, my dear brother, are a snob.” Sharp teeth grazed his neck, strong enough for him to enjoy the feeling but not enough to draw blood. Not yet. “A _tasty_ snob, but a snob nevertheless.”  Why was it that both of his favourite lovers could kill him without breaking into sweat, should they fancy it? Loras was extremely talented in violence and Renly had seen _very_ closely the damage Nyssë´s teeth could cause…  yet he trusted both without a question. He preferred not to think about what it said about him.

“Because I like to dress well and don´t eat anything I could get my hands on, as long as it contains meat? Beware, sweet sister, in twenty years you are going to weight as much as Nyra.” _Liar._ Nyssë had trained daily since she was seven, stopping only when she was either pregnant or recovering from delivery. By now, she didn´t even need her teeth to kill a man – her bare hands and feet would make do.

“Are you calling her fat? Please say it to her face – oh, wait, you wouldn´t dare, because she will get angry and throw all your precious clothes to the sea. _Again_.”

“It was _one_ time. And she apologized.” _Eventually_.  All because a certain someone, who lived and breathed chaos, had found it a great idea to tell _both_ Rhaenyra and Stannis that he was having an affair with Loras. Stannis had barely restrained himself from throttling him for going anywhere near a _Tyrell_ , while Nyra had screeched loud enough to wake the dead about him being a brainless, cock-hungry fuckwit. Renly had not dared to show his face on Dragonstone for several months, until Nyssë had managed to convince their stepmother that he had not broken her heart. Husbands who bedded other men were a hot spot for Nyra.

“What is _really_ in Winterfell? Lord Stark alone can´t be important enough to travel all the way just to meet him. Should it prove necessary, there would be enough time to get rid of him once he is already at the King´s Landing. Beats risking whatever the northerners may have in store for the granddaughter of the Mad King.”

“The boy.”

“The boy you have been dreaming about? You finally figured out who he is?”

“I _will_ , because he will be there. The missing piece of the riddle.”

_Maybe. But what if you are not going to like the answer?_ Renly could not partake in his sister´s enthusiasm.  He was yet to meet a friend of Robert that wasn´t a loudmouthed bastard  uninterested in anything but wine and whores…  e xcept for one, the first person he had ever heard the name  _“Robert Baratheon”_ from.  Ser Richard Lonmouth had  often  played cyvasse with Nyssë and entertained them with stories about the tourney at Harrenhall they had been deemed too young to attend. In his stories, Robert Baratheon had sounded  _awesome_ , a storybook hero come alive. Renly had been looking forward to his wedding with Lyanna Stark they were all invited to to finally meet his hero…  he could never forgive himself for wishing that man into their lives .  Ser Richard himself had been lucky enough to never have to witness his hero become a monster, lost in Trident among thousands of others, his remains never found.

Ned Stark, the older brother of Lyanna Stark… Renly wanted nothing to do with anything and anyone related to her. He had a very bad feeling about what they _may_ find, should they keep digging. A single line he had once overhead father saying, completely forgotten until he had accidentally read it from one of his scrolls while cleaning them from the dust that had collected during over a decade of neglect… _“A dragon must have three heads.”_

But he could not allow Nyssë to face it on her own. “If you really wish it, then we are going. But you are _so_ going to make it up for me.” Loras would be furious. May whatever they will find be worth it.

“I do. And speaking of both wanting things and making it up for you...” Long, talented fingers had already opened his breeches and were now closing around his hardening cock.

“ _Here_?”

“Why not? It wouldn´t be the most scandalous place.”

“Everyone could walk in.”

“I locked the door. Maybe.”

“ _Maybe._ Like the time we got caught by ser Barristan?”

“The best entertainment he´s had in years.”

“Says the one who does not have to face him at every council meeting.”

“There is nothing wrong in showing your wife some respect. I am a _princess_ , you know.”

A princess _indeed_.

He never wrote that damn rapport.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please review!


	3. The Prince and Princess of ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What lies beneath the surface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Nyssë – no one but father had ever called her Rhaenys, and father had not been around to call her _anything_ since she had been five years old – woke to find her bed empty and the taste of blood in her mouth. She had been dreaming about, the same dream that felt almost like a memory, about a little girl who could´ve been her, who _had_ been her in another world. Younger than this world´s version of her had been, and human – but still unmistakeably _her_. Stabbed over and over (It had taken her terribly long to die. Nyssë had not been aware that you could lose so much blood and still be alive.). What her fate could´ve been… what her fate perhaps _should´ve_ been. Maybe it would´ve been a kinder fate, half an hour of fear and pain compared to living for the next seventeen years with wounds that refused to heal. She could barely remember what it had been like to feel in peace.

Sometimes, when the pain got really bad, she tried to imagine a life _after…_ but came up with nothing. Try as she might, Nyssë did not see a future for herself, once the vengeance was complete. Perhaps she had always been meant to die, only in this version of the story she was to survive a little longer. Death did not scare her – she doubted that it could be worse than what had already been done to her. Blood, so much blood…  No matter how many scalding baths she took, she could never be pure again.

  


Renly had not come home last night. She was perfectly aware where – and in _whose_ bed – he was. _Fucking Loras._ Fucking Loras, who was everything she was not. The worst thing was that she could´ve  liked him, had she not hated him so much for taking away the only person who had chosen _her_. Father had chosen to die in the name of Lyanna Stark, mother had chosen to remain and die with Aegon… but Renly had chosen her.

She had considered – on more occasions than she cared to count – forcing him to let go of her. She could – _probably_ – if she tried hard enough. He could live without her… but she could not live without him.

It had happened before the birth of the twins. Because nothing short of _killing_ him would force him to leave his children. Renly was _warm_ , in a way she could never be. Nyssë loved their children too, and would rip out the throat of anyone who as much as considered harming them… but she had never truly wanted to be a mother. It had been the lack of better methods to ensure their future that had lead to the conception of Daeron and Elaena and an accident that had lead to Elenei´s. She needed to have another child – preferably son – just in case Daeron should choose another path. She would not have Targaryen name die out with her.

But she had not been able to conceive again. Was it the consequence of two successive pregnancies while still in her early teens or the after-effect of all the moon tea she had spent the next eight years drinking, she did not know or particularly care about. What she _did_ care about was the fact that she was likely barren at the age of twenty-three.

Rhaenyra, just like Renly, kept trying to console her, claiming that there was still time. Her body would recover, once she stops flogging herself on and gives it enough time to heal. If Rhaenyra, who´d had both the highly traumatic delivery of her stillborn daughter and her apparent immortality to consider, had still managed to have two more living children, then so could she. Just give it some time.

 _Time, time, time._ Nyssë was sick of time. That´s what uncle Doran would always say: _“Wait, it is too early to strike, the Lannisters are still too powerful.”_ But for _how_ long? At that rate, Tywin Lannister was going to die of old age. It killed her slowly, to see him and that… creature of his, a constant reminder what would happen, should she make even the smallest of missteps. _Wait, wait, wait._

She hated nights. During the daytime there were always matters to attend to, problems to solve and entertainment to be found. But at night, it all came back to her. At night, she was Rhaenys and felt _everything_.

  


# # #

 

Renly had been pleased to hear that Jon Arryn had had a good sense to die of natural causes, before he´d been forced to murder him. He had not been looking forward to it – Renly had never been violent, hated getting dirty and blood made him panic – but when forced to choose between his conscience and his children´s happiness, he would choose the latter. Anyone cruel and arrogant enough to think that he would willingly give his daughter to the son and grandson of men responsible for the deaths of her uncle and grandparents, just because the Hand of the king declares so, deserved to die.

Jon Arryn had never liked either of them, but his particular contempt had belonged to Nyssë. She was Elia Martell´s daughter to the bone – unbowed, unbroken, unbent. A _Princess_ , with fire in her veins and steel in her bones… not a helpless, cowering little doll he and Robert had wished to make of her. And Daeron was her son. The grandson of the still-mourned, still-popular Silver Prince with much purer blood than Joffrey Baratheon.

“ _Prince Rhaegar come again,”_ those wronged by the current rule  were already whispering about Daeron. Seventeen years, humiliation and persecution later, there was still a number of those who had not forgiven or forgotten. A _greater_ number than Robert could imagine. (Not that he ever did, too busy wasting his life and crown´s money to think twice about why the crowds were no longer as enthusiastically cheering  at him as they used to.) It had been a tedious and time-consuming work to make the Stormlords even _consider_ hearing him out  – Robert had defiled both himself and his lineage by both marrying Cersei Lannister, the daughter of the sevenfold- cursed butcher of innocents, and by giving his approval to the brutal murder of a baby and a blameless woman, his kin by blood and marriage. His heir was a spoiled, sadistic brat lacking both intelligence and human decency. Joffrey would lead them all to doom. 

Crownlands, Dorne, Stormlands and the Reach if they played their cards right, a couple of friends here and there… Enough to keep the enemies at bay, but not enough to win a war. Maybe there never will.

  


Unfortunately, Jon Arryn had not been as easy to mislead as Robert. He had long suspected Nyssë of treason – and him of turning a blind eye, if not actively helping – but without a proof. (His charms were very handy at times). Yes, his sister _had_ been reaching out to whatever old comrades of their father they had been able to find without attracting too much attention – but out of guilt on account of Rhaegar´s role in messing up their lives…not to recruit them to their cause. And while Jon Connington _was_ indeed alive, he had rudely rebuffed of any sort of further communication, even going as far as to call her a two-faced bitch who would do whatever and whoever it takes to keep her position.

Viserys appeared to share his views, if his increasingly violent threats were any indication. Their uncle was a haughty fool, who hated Nyssë for what he saw as usurping what should´ve been his. She had tried to reason with him at first, offering him money and protection if he agreed to publicly renounce his claim. Viserys´s answer had been a death threat – the rightful king would never lower himself to answer the demands of a half-breed scum like her. Once he will take back what is his, they will all burn.

Not all assassins sent after the Beggar King were seeking Robert´s favor. Viserys had to die – they would never be safe, as long as he was out there, rambling about his birthright and searching for someone to plot with. What if someday he _does_ manage to find a man either stupid or foolhardy enough to give him a second thought? Renly did not worry about their bannermen abandoning them – while Viserys´s claim was theoretically better than Nyssë´s, he had not been popular back then – being both too much like his father and hidden away by his  coddling parents – and he had not set a foot on Westeros for sixteen years. _Out of sight, out of mind._ But it would still mean war, and war would mean death and destruction… Renly had no desire to face it again, just because Viserys was unable to comprehend that he had lost the day Nyssë had officially become the Lady of Dragonstone.

  


#  # #

  


R enly had not wanted to return to King´s Landing.  _Ever_ .  They had been at the Sunspear when the missive had  arrived , the first he had ever received from Robert.  _Master of Law. Money, power and the place that held his worst memories._

He had laid awake that night, counting the heartbeats of his sleeping sister. They were alone – the comely young warrior they had enjoyed earlier had left, presumably to seek something to stop the bleeding in his neck. He will be back tomorrow, or will not… it mattered little to him. The Westeros was full of handsome young men who would be more than willing to have some fun.

Nyssë´s body next to him was solid, warm and smelled faintly of cocoa. At seventeen, his sister was magnificent. She was tall, only an inch or two shorter than his six feet, graceful and strong. Many were claiming that Nyssë was the greatest beauty of her time, rival to only Cersei Lannister.

Renly had always found her lovely, even at the age of eleven, flat-chested, hair in tangles and covered with scratches and bruises in various stages of healing from practising whatever weapon she was currently training with. They had been sleeping in the same bed for as long as he could recall, thinking nothing of it. Until they did. Nyssë´s eyes had gleamed like hellfire, she had giggled like a maniac and he had known without a doubt that he would die for her.

  


“Why aren´t you sleeping?” Black eyes were open, observing him with sleepy curiosity. Mother´s eyes had been warm hazel, Elenei´s were darker brown, but Nyssë´s were black and bottomless, like the depths of hell.

“I am sorry, I didn´t mean to wake you. Go back to bed, I´ll join you in a minute.”

“There is no point, it´s too hot to sleep anyway. I may be half-dornish, but the heat is just too much. Almost makes me miss Dragonstone.” Nyssë sighed. “Since I am already up, I may as well go and check how children are doing.”

“First put something on. Uncle Doran will get upset if I will have to kill someone to protect your honor. Not mentioning the lecture we would get from Stannis when he hears about it.”

His sister stuck out her tongue.

They had spent last two years travelling around Westeros, spending very little time at Dragonstone. Renly knew that even if he did not agree with Robert´s offer – something he had no intention doing – it was time for them to go home. Nyssë was now officially of age, which meant swearing fealty to the Usurper or risking the consequences. 

Renly slid his fingers through his damp hair, wondering whether or not to cut it. Stannis disapproved of h is braided hair, jewellery and manicured hands, saying that the only thing missing was a dress and people would start to confuse him with a pretty girl .  In any case, he would rather look like a  woman than Robert Baratheon.

I t had been terrible, to realize one day that the face staring back from the looking glass was starting to look more and more like the man he hated.  There was only so little he could do about it – never grow a beard, keep his hair long and wear green to make his eyes look less blue. Not a day passed when he did not thank the  G ods or fate or whatever decided those things that Daeron looked nothing like a Baratheon .  O ddly enough, from what little he had heard, neither did Robert´s sons, who both took after their Lannister mother.

“The girls were sleeping on the floor. Elenei refused to go back to bed and I did not want to wake Elaena, so I let them be.” Nyssë yawned. “Maybe I should give it a try... You coming? What are you even doing – you have been staring at the same paper for at least half an hour. Bad news?”

I may just as well get it over with. “This arrived today. Read.”

Nyssë let out an inhuman growl. “The sheer audacity of this man, to contact you after all these years! _Now_ he suddenly needs you and wishes to make amends!”  She craunched the letter and threw it to the floor, furious. But after a moment of consideration, curiosity took over. When is he expecting you?”

“In six months time.”

“Soon, but not impossible to manage. I must talk to uncle Oberyn the first thing tomorrow.”

“Wait, what? You believe that I should _accept_?”

“It is a generous offer. He must be running out of the people who like him to turn to those who would rather see him dead. You should at least consider it.” He had. A place in the small council would give him access to money and power – two things he sorely lacked. Renly owned nothing but his name and charms… and those two had only so little use when it came to paying the bills. He could _really_ do without going to Stannis, whenever he needed extra money. Their resources were extremely limited – Robert had  alienated everything in King´s Landing that had once belonged to Targaryens (the gold, the jewellery, everything up to their mother´s gowns) and the reparations he had demanded after the war had ensured that their bannermen were just as broke than they. 

“It would require me to spend at least half of my time in King´s Landing. Away from you and the children. Do you really want it?”

“We don´t always get what we want. Besides, it is not like you will be exiled to Free Cities. It only takes few days to travel between Dragonstone and King´s Landing, we will be able to see each other often enough… maybe I will even join you at times.”

“You would agree to live at the Red Keep, after everything that happened there?”

“I do not fear them. The person they hurt is no longer – they should be the ones afraid now. And I have been thinking, about what happened to Rhaenyra... The main reason her half-brother was able to gain a large number of supporters in King´s Landing was because he was around and she was not. It is much easier to plot against someone who is not present to defend themselves – once they realize what is going on, it would already be too late. We have been away for nearly eleven years – long enough to be forgotten. Should something happen, it would gain hardly any attention.

Father used to be so popular because he was  _a public figure_ . Handsome, charming, generous – what was there not to love? Robert´s star has already started to fade – time for someone else to take his place.  _You_ .”

“And you? Surely you don´t expect me to keep all the limelight to myself?”

“ _I_ will become _Rhaenys the Defiant_. As your dutiful wife, I will be free to express my disdain however I see fitting and _do_ whatever I see fitting, with you playing the part of the lovelorn long-suffering husband,  who is completely blind to my faults. It would be _so_ much fun.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please review!


	4. The Bloody Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Stannis met Rhaenyra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

_16 years earlier..._

Dragonstone had been empty. Not only the streets, but also the castle. It had been the eerie silence that welcomed Stannis – no sights of the servants, former Queen´s ladies-in-waiting or most importantly, the woman herself. Had everyone abandoned it while Robert had been too busy revelling in his victory to notice? Just in case, he ordered his trusted men to search every room until they find _someone_. And they did.

It wasn´t long until he heard the shouts. One of the soldiers came running to the hall. “My lord, we found the Queen!”

Stannis gritted his teeth. It was important to use correct titles. “ _Former_ queen. And her son?”

“Men are still looking for him.”

“Tell them to not rest until they find him. Now have her brought to me, I would like to question her. But be gentle, she is still a lady.”

The man nodded and left the room, returning few moments later with a pale, sliver-haired woman dressed in creamy nightgown and little more. A woman that was _clearly_ not Rhaella Targaryen.

She had the right colouring, but that was where the similarities ended. The former Queen had been an undistinguished woman, frail and prematurely aged, resignation reeking from her every move.

Nothing like the lustful creature of fever dreams standing in front of him.

“You are not Rhaella Targaryen.”

The woman shrugged. “I am aware. These good men aren´t, since they insisted dragging me out of bed. They deserve to be whipped for such disregard for my virtue. What now? Are you going to rape me – or are you the type to order the soldiers do the dirty work while you watch? I fear that you will end up feeling unsatisfied, since it won´t by far be the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

 _What an impossible creature! Just who did she think she was?_ Stannis tried to concentrate to his irritation, instead of the elegant curve of the woman´s neck and the rising and falling of her breasts, visible through the translucent material of her clothing. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, a thousand times more beautiful than Robert´s lady Lyanna. “No one is going to rape anyone. You are free to go as soon as you agree to answer some questions.”

“If it would please you, as long as you make it quick. I care not for the company of lowly soldiers, my only wish is to return to my rooms, alone. Unless, of course, you are willing to make it worth my time?” Ruby lips curved into a smile that held thousand promises. “You look like you could use some warmth.”

 _Did she just...?_ “Where is _real_ Rhaella Targaryen?”

“Dead, along with her unborn child. She would rather die than face the same fate as princess Elia. Her ashes were given to the wind to be reunited with her firstborn´s, as was her last wish.”

“And her son Viserys?”

“Gone for good, I hope. The brat had no manners, I have never wanted to strangle a child other than my half-brother, but I was tempted. Where he is now – not my business. And don´t bother looking for someone else to question – you really think that there would be anyone foolish enough to stick around, after the sack of King´s Landing? There is only me left.”

 _So the boy has escaped. Robert will have a fit._ “The King will not be pleased to hear it. I am afraid that I will be forced to bring you along to King´s Landing for further questioning.”

“And _I_ am afraid that I will have to decline. I have no intention to return to the capital – especially to be questioned by yet another boy fancying himself a King. If Robert Baratheon wishes to speak to me, he is welcome to pay me a visit. If he is brave enough.”

“It was not a suggestion, but an order, Lady...” It occurred to Stannis that he was yet to learn her name. Queen Rhaella did not have sisters, neither had she any female cousins of a similar age he was aware of. Maybe a dragonseed, a distant kin? Taught from a young age to speak and act like an highborn?

“I can´t see why my name should be any of your concern. It is good enough that I know yours – and how horrified your grandmother would be. Poor Rhaelle had such high hopes for your brother, but there he is now – a Usurper and kinslayer. _Tainted._

And for leaving Dragonstone – has it occurred to you that perhaps I am _literally_ unable to do it? Believe me, there are a thousand places I would rather be. Unfortunately, there is this pesky little _curse…_ Words of wisdom from someone who learnt it the hard way – it is nor a wise thing to curse the Gods, because they may take offence and curse you in return. And _their_ curses are much worse.”

It reminded Stannis of a story his grandmother had told him when he was a boy. _The Bl_ _oody_ _Queen_ , cursed to haunt the place of her death until the world ends. But she had not mentioned the Queen to be so very lovely… Stannis had imagined a dried up hag, toothless and stinking of grave… “You are lying. You are too beautiful to be the Bloody Queen.”

“So _that_ ´s what they call me these days? I like it. _The Bloody Queen_ … it surely beats what they used to call me when I still lived. How very long ago it was...” For a moment, there was a faraway look in her eyes, but it passed soon. “Sweet, naive boy… Many monsters are beautiful. If you wish, I could tell you stories so terrible that they would freeze the blood in your veins. But since I like you, I may tell you a secret.”

She leaned closer to whisper into his ear. “You can call me _Rhaenyra_.”

 

# # #

 

Rhaenyra had been a person once. Maybe not the best kind of a person, but still someone _real_. But it had been a very long time ago and she was slowly starting to forget what it had felt like.

Sometimes years would pass without her notice, lost in a world long gone, and yet her skin remained soft and her mouth red. Men still sought her company, equally fascinated by her beauty and her tragedy. She smiled serenely, permitted them to kiss her hand – and on rare occasions, her lips – and accepted their gifts, because she was a goddess and goddesses were to be worshipped. Rhaenyra Targaryen, the queen of blood and goddess of fiery death…. _Gods, what had become of her?_

She never bothered to memorize their names and faces – they were all the same to her, dead before she had started to miss their praises and soon replaced with others. It was not a life, but it mattered little, since she had already been dead for years before Sunfyre came along. That her heart kept beating was nothing but an inconvenience.

 

Until Rhaella. Rhaenyra had never been fond of that weak, mousey woman that hardly deserved the name Targaryen. But blood was blood and she had come when asked, since the poor thing was dying. Rhaenyra could hardly blame her for letting go – had she had the capability to die, she would have happily done the same. She had even wondered briefly if that´s why Rhaella who liked her just as little had called her – to gloat that her suffering was to end, while Rhaenyra´s will never do.

When Rhaella had made her demand – Rhaenyra had to save Renly and Nyssë (What damn kind of a name was _Nyssë_ ? The girl´s name was _Rhaenys_! The whelp should be honoured to be named after the strongest, bravest person Rhaenyra had ever known), her two eldest grandchildren who had apparently managed to survive the massacre and were being kept captive in the Red Keep – Rhaenyra had laughed to her face.

How was she, who had never brought anything but death and suffering on everyone she had ever cared about, to save anyone? Besides, if two of Rhaegar´s brats were indeed somehow still alive – something she had little faith in, having heard rumors about the sack of King´s Landing that were terrible enough to move even her cold, iron heart – they would better off dead, since life was shit.

Rhaella had slapped her for that. _Had Rhaenyra forgotten that she had once been a mother_ _too_ _?_ _Wouldn´t she have done whatever it takes to try and save her children, however weak the chances of succeeding were?_ No, she had not.

Rhaenyra had went to her doom believing that all her children but one were dead and she had not expected Aegon to survive for long afterwards. So she had refused to beg, even for him, content with the belief that they were to be reunited soon in a better word. She had never seen any of her sons again.

Rhaenyra did not believe in forgiveness or redemption and was far too old and jaded to have any hope for escaping her cursed half-life. The only way she desired to deal with any Baratheon was by stabbing them in the neck and watching them bleed out. Within any right, she should have told Rhaella where to shove her attempts to guilt her into anything and returned to her beloved dead. What happened to Rhaella´s grandchildren was no business of hers, in few decades they would be history, just like everyone else she had ever known.

Yet something had forced her to hesitate.

 

Stannis Baratheon had wanted to fuck her. It did not surprise Rhaenyra – he was hardly the first, men had wanted to fuck her since she was little more than a child (and hated her whenever they were refused. More often than not, they were.)

What _did_ surprise her was the fact that this stiff, prudish boy seemed to _like_ her. Rhaenyra was a realist, she knew that she had never been an easy person to be around – for most of her life, people had only bothered because they had wanted something from her. Laenor had wanted glory, Daemon had wanted legacy. Neither had given a fuck about her feelings… or the lack of.

Her father had believed that Laenor would be good to her. She had wanted to believe the same – which bride wouldn´t? Maybe in some other world they _were_ good to each other. But not in this world, _never_ in this world. Criston Cole, her pride and his anger had ended their marriage before it had even really started. She had hated Laenor for so long that she could barely recall the time before, neither did she even want to. Hate was easier to bear.

The main reason she had married Daemon had been that he had always been good to her. People are selfish by nature – someone could be a complete monster, but it is so damn easy to ignore it, as long as they are good to _you_. She had not loved him, or even desired him all that much, but she had been young and scared and so very lonely. Had she known what she knew now, she would have killed him with her bare hands, not let him to push her into his bed and his cock into her.

 

It had been fun to go along with the soldiers belief that she was Rhaella. She hadn´t even lied. She was _indeed_ a former queen, just not the one they had been ordered to arrest. It had been even funnier to toy with her captor, as the boy had no guile. She both pitied and envied him for it.

The fierce, brilliant girl she had been, in another life, would have been disgusted by a mere thought of letting Stannis Baratheon to fuck her, as if she was nothing but a common whore. But that girl had died long ago, having slit her wrists after losing the love of her life. What had emerged had been something very different. Rhaenyra had no faith that the boy would help her from the kindness of his heart – neither did she deserve it.

Perhaps she _was_ a whore. After all, she had sold herself for the first time at the age of sixteen, for the crown and promises of a glorious future that never came to be. Again at twenty-three, for protection and out of pain... what difference could one more time make?

 

It had been awkward and painful and by no means enjoyable. All she could think about was the first time she had ever done it. She had been very young then – _far_ _too young_ – and it had hurt so sweetly. She had _wanted_ it to hurt – it had not been sex for the pleasure´s sake (that had come later), but something to punish herself with. She was not good enough, her father had to go and have a new, better daughter. Should she die – her mother and both grandmothers had died in childbed, so it was a real possibility – would anyone even miss her?

A wrong name from her lips had brought her back to present. It happened at times – memories getting so tangled with reality that they became one. She needed to do better – she would not have him remembering whose name she had been calling while he fucked her. Stannis needed to _keep_ liking her.

Somewhere in hell, Laenor was laughing at her. _“Your new toy_ _giving you trouble? Your taste keeps getting worse and worse as the time goes by."_

__Shut up._ _

 

 

Stannis had left her bed dazzled and confused, wondering what exactly was he supposed to tell his brother. Rhaenyra had not been saddened to watch him go – she had a feeling that they were to meet again and soon. To her surprise, she found herself looking forward to it. She rather liked the idea of feeling something again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please review!


	5. What makes a family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis keeps having a hard time and acquires a family for his troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter up! Enjoy!

“ _The year of false spring,”_ maesters would eventually start to call it. _More like the year everyone went mad,_ thought Stannis with certain bitterness. Prince Rhaegar for disappearing with the Stark girl, Brandon Stark for choosing the worst possible place in the world to make a scene, the Mad King for living up to his nickname, and finally, Robert for rewarding rape and butchery. 

If someone had asked him two years ago, there would not have been an unlikelier abductor and rapist than the harp-playing, poetry-reading Crown Prince, a caring husband and a doting father… but there they were now. Listening Robert frothing from his mouth about the dragonspawn, and how the world must be cleansed from that filth. His brother had expressed no joy for seeing him alive (not thanks to Robert), instead, he had immediately assumed the role of his King and forbidden him from as much as  _seeing_ Renly, the baby brother he had not dared to hope to find  still alive and relatively unharmed (who could have known that the Mad King had been, in some aspects,  a lot kinder than they had given him credit for?)  Instead he was to sail to Dragonstone and deliver the last Targaryens – a pregnant woman and an eight-years old boy – to justice. Or whatever passed for it in Robert´s mind.

Stannis had not even considered refusing. Firstly, it was the promise of seeing Renly again if he pleases Robert. Secondly, it was the second son´s loyalty to his elder brother, doing his duty. And last… he could make it as quick and painless as possible. What had happened to Princess Elia and her son – no one should suffer like that. They would die before they reach the capital – Robert would undoubtedly wish to elongate it, to torture the mother and brother of a man safe from him in death. Viserys Targaryen and the child his mother was carrying were an obstacle – but they deserved more than unnecessary cruelty. 

  


H is expedition had been ended up being a disaster, from the first moment to the last. Rhaella Targaryen had died in childbed, her daughter not living long enough to draw a breath. Viserys Targaryen had  disappeared, very likely escaped .  Failure.

Instead the ones he had come to arrest, he may or may not met the world´s most beautiful woman. Who may or may not have been the infamous, undead queen haunting Dragonstone as a punishment for her bloody crimes. He may or may not have fallen to her spell, fallen into the bed with her and ended up dishonouring them both (She had laughed so hard that she had nearly fallen out of said bed when he had apologized for it, as if the thought of someone dishonouring _her_ was the greatest joke she had ever heard.  He had never managed to make someone laugh before – he wasn´t entirely sure if he liked it or not). He may or may not woken up in the middle of the night to find her fiddling with a knife and angrily muttering to herself, eyes glazed and lips white. Or he may have hallucinated it all up, due to stress and starvation.

In the morning, she had been nowhere to found. Worse, none of his men had any memory of her  _ever_ being there. They had searched the  k eep, found no one and had gone to sleep, assuming that he had done the same. Just like no one seemed to remember him giving an order to start searching the sea for Viserys Targaryen. 

Perhaps he would´ve been able to make himself to believe that it had indeed been nothing but a  _very_ realistic dream… had he not glimpsed a feminine figure dressed in black looking down at him,  smiling,  just as he was to depart.  _“As the sun rises, the Bloody Queen will be forced to return to her shadowy tomb hidden by dark enchantments, where she waits for the day to end once more...”_ If his mysterious companion had  _indeed_ been Rhaenyra, she would still be here if he should  choose to  ever return.  Stannis forced himself to not think about seeing her again – he was already in a deep enough of a mess, there was no need to add the fact that he had been foolish enough to allow himself to be bewitched to the insult.  Dealing with her  and the aftermath of a trick she had played him  would have to wait until he has enough time and energy to do so.

  


He had not told Robert about Rhaenyra, in case he _had_ hallucinated about her. Besides, he knew what Robert would say – that he had been without a woman for so long that his mind had finally snapped and made one up.  (Everything was always _that_ simple  for Robert. It must have been nice and quiet, living inside his brother´s head).  Because whores and tavern wenches weren´t good enough for Stannis, what he desired was _a Queen_ , the older and eviller the better.

Instead, he had backed the story everyone else was telling – that all they had found were the remains of a funeral pyre and a missing ship with Viserys Targaryen on board. As granted, Robert had been furious and called him a useless waste of space unable to perform a single task. _A dragon-lover,_ that´s what he was, worthy guardian to Renly who was yet to stop whining about being separated from his little bitch of a bride, Rhaegar Targaryen´s daughter Rhaenys, who the Lannister soldiers had failed to kill and Robert had no use for. Stannis was welcome to have them both, or give the girl to the Silent Sisters if he did not wish to deal with her, as long as Robert was not to see them ever again.

That was how Stannis, aged nineteen, suddenly found himself both a reluctant guardian of two children and virtually exiled to Dragonstone until they come to an age – because Robert had made it very clear that there was _no way in hell_ he would allow him to take _dragonspawn_ to Storm´s End and  Stannis himself had _no_ intentions to leave them alone to Dragonstone with  no one but a bloody witch for company. Wonderful, just _fucking_ wonderful. His headache was likely to never subside. 

  


# # #

  


Renly had not reacted when Stannis had entered his strangely empty – what had happened to all of his personal belongings? – room. In fact, he was _still_ to acknowledge his presence, staring unblinkingly out of the barred window. Robert had claimed that it would be a waste of time to try to communicate with him – Renly would either ignore him or start talking nonsense. His brother was a skinny thing, tall for his age, his huge eyes and long wavy hair making him look almost like a girl.

“Do you know who I am?” They had met once before, a year or so before the world turned upside down. Renly had been _a lot_ more talkative back then.

The boy – his _little brother_ , who he had seen only once since he was a baby and knew next to nothing about – nodded slowly. “ _Stannis_. I remember you. You visited once, you and an old lady with eyes like Nyssë. I liked her. Is she here too?” Renly was now looking at Stannis with a faint interest. _He has our mother´s eyes. Blue-green, like sea on a sunny day._

“She is dead. Has been for two years.”

Renly´s face fell. “Of course. I will be dead soon too.” The resignation in his voice chilled the blood in Stannis´s veins. Renly was _nine_! What had these people done to him?

“No, you won´t. Because we are going to leave this place.”

“I can´t. They have Nyssë locked on a dungeon full of rats and they said that they will kill her if I try to escape again. Just like they killed mama and Aegon,” he added sadly.

“They can´t, because we are going to take her along.” The presence of the former princess would complicate their lives even more, but he had made up his mind. He was done with shedding the blood of innocents – and he would _not_ allow Robert to make a kinslayer out of him. At the end of the day, Rhaenys Targaryen was still his cousin and it was his duty as her eldest available male relative to protect her. And there was _no_ way he was going to leave her – the daughter of Robert´s mortal enemy – to Robert´s care a moment longer than absolutely necessary if he had no qualms about making his own _brother_ so miserable that he wanted to die.

“Really?”

“Really. No one is going to hurt either of you again. I promise.” _“_ _Better hope that Renly never finds out that you were going to kill Rhaella and h_ _er_ _children. I doubt that he would like you very much after_ that _,”_ whispered a voice in his head that sounded too much like Rhaenyra for comfort.

“Why? Aren´t you afraid that the Usurper will get angry with you? He hates us.” _The Usurper._ Not brother. Had Robert not even _tried_ to get him to like him, just dismissed him forever as a dragonspawn?

“Then let him be angry with me, he has never liked me anyway. But I am your brother and it is my duty to take care of you.”

Renly shook his head. “I don´t have a brother anyone. A bad man hit his head against the wall, there were blood and...pieces everywhere. Nyssë screamed until she fainted... The Usurper claims to be my brother, but I know that he is lying. He is mean, even meaner than Viserys and Viserys called Nyssë a filthy half-breed and told us that daddy wouldn´t have left if mama was a better wife. I broke his nose for it.”

“Good. It was a very rude thing to say. You will not have to worry about Viserys any longer. He is gone and can never come back.” _At least I hope. For his own well-being, because Robert would have him killed_ _without a second thought_ _._ “And a person could have more than one brother – didn´t Princess Rhaenys call both you and Prince Aegon her brothers?”

“ _Nyssë_. Only papa called her Rhaenys and papa is dead. The Usurper killed him with a hammer, he seems to like killing people... And yes she did… if you are to be my brother, does it make you hers too? She will get sad if I have a new brother and she has not. I hate to see her sad.”

“Yes, I will be her brother too if she would have me.” _I bet Robert would_ love _that._ “Is there anything you need to pack? We are going to leave as soon as possible.” _Once I will find the_ _p_ _rincess and_ _tell her_ _what_ _Robert is_ _demanding from both and Renly in exchange of her freedom._ _I_ t was unnatural, to make her wed who was her brother in all but name. They were not Targaryens, they should know better.

“No. The Usurper had all my things thrown away, he said that they were tainted with dragon filth. I begged him to leave at least my harp, but he crushed it underneath his foot and said that he will break my fingers next if I as much as think about playing harp again. Why does he hate music?”

_Because Rhaegar used his harp to bewitch the Stark girl._ “Because he is a fool. I will buy you a new one.” _Robert can go to hell._ He has always made clear that the only family he cares about  were Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark.  Robert  had not cared when their parents had died, he had not  cared when the Storm´s End had been under siege and the whole household starving, he had not cared when a small boy´s whole world had collapsed, he had not cared that Rhaegar Targaryen was dead and had instead insisted on punishing children  whose only crime was the blood in their veins . Stannis was done. If Robert did not want to be his family – fine,  so be it. 

 

#  # #

  


The place he had found Rhaenys Targaryen from was not  _exactly_ a dungeon – but not very far from it, certainly not somewhere where a little girl, let alone a highborn one, had any business being.

She  had  _growled_ at him when he  had  opened the door, before launching herself at Renly, crying hysterically. If his brother had looked bad, it had been nothing compared to the  P rincess. The  little  girl was basically skin, bones and teeth, hair matted beyond hope and clothes strained with dried blood. Stannis had seen  his share of horrors, but the sight of her was almost able to make him sick. 

So he  had just stood there, while Renly kept hugging the  P rincess tightly and muttering words of comfort to her. At least that´s what Stannis  _thought_ they were – he may have known some high valyrian, but not enough to keep up with a rapid conversation neither party felt a need to include him to. The girl sounded lucid enough – something that gave him hope. Perhaps they were going to be alright  after all .

  


R haenys had protested  loudly when he had told her that there was no other choice than to cut her hair – the strained-looking maid he had finally managed to summon after a long search had  almost fainted upon seeing the condition of it – agreeing only when Renly had  agreed to have his hair cut too.

Stannis had  in no way not cried out in terror, when, after reluctantly leaving the children alone for  an hour , he had returned to find both happily cuddling what appeared to be a  very small panther . The beast, aptly named Balerion, had been prince Rhaegar´s last gift to his daughter… which left Stannis wondering why on seven hells had the Targaryen thought it a suitable gift for a little girl – and whether or not h is cousin had been aware what cats are  _supposed_ to look like. Either way, Nyssë had bitten him really painfully when he had tried to get her away from the possibly rabid, ferocious-looking beast. The “ kitten ” was to come with them, or  she would let it eat him.

  


Now that both Renly and Rhaenys were out of danger, sufficiently clean and fed, it was starting to dawn Stannis that he had absolutely no idea  of  what to  _do_ with them. He had no experience with children – Renly had been a baby not old enough to talk when  grandmother had taken him to King´s Landing with her, not to return until now, and as a quiet, sullen boy he´d never really had friends to play with. He had never gotten along well with Robert, and once Robert had met Eddard Stark he had never shown any real interest in him again.

A nd now he was to raise a boy who was scared of everything and a girl who was a mix of a dragon and a demon. 

Stannis wished for an uncountable time that his grandmother was still alive. _She_ would know what to do. Rhaelle Baratheon nee Targaryen had been a lovely lady with a talent to inspire terror in mere mortals (he was starting to suspect that it was a genetic trait and weak, demure Rhaella Targaryen had been an _exception_ , not a normality. Maybe that´s the real reason so many of them married within family – because everyone else was too terrified to touch them). She had outlived her parents, sister, her three brothers, husband and only son without allowing her pain to get the best of her. Their parents had preferred Robert – loud, active Robert, who lived for the praise and wouldn´t be caught dead with a book in his hand – but grandmother had always been there for him. Right now, she would likely tell him to stop overthinking and just go with it. He had been given a task – the least he could to is to try to fulfil it as well as possible. They were going to be a family.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please review!


	6. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a trouble brewing out there somewhere and Stannis isn´t here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, back to the present, where Rhaenyra tries, with varying results, to juggle political intrigue, parenting and her conflicting feelings. And there may be a baby on the way. 
> 
> Slight rewrites on chapters 2 and 3, you may want to give them a look.

“My lady, what can I do for you on this fine day, when the sun shines almost as brightly as your eyes?”

“Skip the courtesies, Aurane. And your poetry is horrid – thank the Gods that it´s not what I am keeping you around for. I need you to make… an inventory list, of sorts.”

“I would never refuse your orders, but my knowledge lies in sea, not in bookkeeping. Perhaps I may be able to recommend someone?”

Clever Aurane, always eager to do her bidding. One word from her and he would marry her without a second thought, her fucked-up past and almost equally fucked-up present to be damned. Rhaenyra felt bad about it at times – for flirting with him and getting his hopes up, knowing very well that it would lead to nowhere. Because like the absolute _fool_ she was – and would most likely always remain – she was stuck in a love with a man, who, even if he wasn´t married (had _not_ married another after she had birthed him a living child, something his proper human wife could never accomplish), would never destroy his reputation and future by publicly declaring his feelings for her.

“You are selling yourself too cheap, my dear. There is one more department your knowledge lies in – people. What little you don´t know, you would be able to find out in no time.

That´s what I need you to do: to make me a list of the members of the court, where their true allegiances lie, who they are sleeping with and what they are afraid of. And what´s most important – who we can trust.” _And who should be eliminated first._

“Are you planning _a coup_ , my lady?”

Rhaenyra chuckled darkly. “Have been for the last sixteen years, good for you to finally catch up.” Nyssë had always been hesitant to say it out loud. The horrors she had witnessed as a little girl had made her cautious – no matter how much she hated seeing the Lannisters flourish, she could not do what her father and grandfather had done and carelessly risk with the lives of those who relied on her. An open war was to be the last resort, should everything else fail.

“And is lord Stannis aware of your little side-business? I will have it done either way, but it would save time and resources to not be forced to figure out ways to keep him away.”

“Lord Stannis prefers not to know things that go against his morals – something high treason unfortunately tends to be, more often than not. But he understands the importance of being prepared, should the push come to shove.”

“Are you expecting it to?” Aurane smiled like he would love _nothing_ more than to cause some chaos. He reminded her of Daemon, who had revelled in it, several lifetimes ago. Maybe that was another reason why she could never love Aurane – she could not allow herself to fall back into the pit it took her so long to scrabble out from, tempting as it may be. She was her own person and whatever mistakes she was to make were to be her own doing.

“In the light of some very, ahem... _interesting_ stories I recently heard, everything is possible. We must only hope that when the storm is over, we are the ones coming out on top.”

  


# # #

  


Rhaenyra chokedas a spoonful of porridge wasunexpectedly showed into hermouth. It was a thankless job, trying to get a toddlermore interested in everything buther mealto eat something, especially if the toddler in question seemed to think that it was instead her mother who needed feeding. Rhaemma giggled at her sour face, unfazed by the temper that had grown men tremble in fear. Even a three-years old knew that Rhaenyra was hopeless when it came to her children. Stannis claimed that she was spoiling their daughters rotten, yet it was _he_ who never failed to fulfil their every wish, no matter how insignificant or bizarre.

And _still_ it would soon be two months with no news from him. No visits, no letters, nothing. It was the longest Stannis had ever stayed away, excluding the Greyjoy rebellion and his brief marriage with that Florent twit, Selena or something. Rhaenyra had not been paying attention. She´d had a toddler, twin babies and their pregnant thirteen years old mother to attend to. Much important than the name of some girl from the Reach. And if she didn´t know her name, she won´t be tempted to curse her out of spite. It wasn´t easy, trying to be good.

Said children were outdoors at the moment, enjoying a rare sunny day. Which left the adults free to discuss matters of great importance, namely what the hell was up with Stannis. According to Renly, he was no longer attending to the council meetings and had answered to none of his messages. The Usurper was yet to question the ongoing absence of his Master of Ships. Either he simply did not care or he had been too drunk to notice it altogether. But something _was_ going on. Something bad.

“I have been thinking…” said Rhaenyra after a long pause in high valyrian, in case Rhaemma decided that this was the rare moment she should pay attention. Stannis had insisted that their children should learn westerosi as a first language. Gone were the days when the nobles were expected to be fluent in the language of their kings and queens – there weren´t many left in Westeros who could speak high valyrian conversationally, and even less of those who spoke it as a mother tongue. It would only make the girls stick out more – not good for several reasons.

“It may be nothing, but the last time I saw him, he was rather upset over a conversation he´d had with Jon Arryn.” Fucking old goat, may he choke in his own spit. It was a pity that he had enough self-preservation to never visit Dragonstone, or else he would have received a piece of mind from an older ( _very_ distant) relative for giving the Arryns, the family of her maternal grandfather, a bad name by betraying the Targaryens and supporting his good for nothing foster son in stealing the throne he had no business with. And maybe a chandelier accidentally failing from the ceiling right onto his head, if she was feeling particularly vindictive.

“Jon Arryn is dead.” Nyssë´s voice betrayed no emotion, but she knew that it must have pleased her adoptive daughter greatly. He´d always been eager to point out her flaws to make Robert Baratheon look better in comparison.

“Oh. Well, he _was_ rather old… Please don´t say that you are trying to claim that _Stannis_ killed him and fled to escape the justice…?” It made no sense. Sure, her lover had held no affection for the man who had allowed his older brother to grow up to be the selfish, lascivious drunk he was, but killing him was another matter. Unless Jon Arryn had dug too deep and discovered something he had no business knowing…

_Her true identity?_ Jace had warned her about the unusual amount of attention the Hand had turned to Rhaemma when the old man had encountered him and the girls at Stannis´s office, waiting for him to return from a council meeting. Shireen, who knew better than to trust a stranger – let alone one who made no secret of his disapproval of her personality and upbringing – had ignored him at the most part, but Rhaemma was still very young...

“ _Pointed questions. And he kept staring at me, like I looked familiar, but he could not wrap his head around the time and place.”_ Most people saw what they wanted to see and did not give a second thought about a young, handsome guardsman often accompanying the girls, usually Elaena, to King´s Landing. The Goldcloaks – or what useless heap of shit passed for Goldcloaks these days – were good for nothing but doing the Lannister´s bidding, leaving the citizens to fend for themselves. No one in their right mind who could afford it would leave the walls of the Red Keep without an armed guard or two. So if Jon Arryn actually took a moment to _look_ at Jace… it means that he may have started to connect the dots. And depending to whether or not he shared his suspicions with someone, she could be _very_ fucked.

Not many people would approve her relationship with Stannis. Firstly, it would break the political alliance his marriage was supposed to cement. And secondly, she was...well, Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Black Queen. Not someone you would do embroidery and discuss the _Seven-pointed-star_ with. Even when legitimated, their daughters would have much trouble finding eligible suitors who do not blench from having a mother-in-law straight from Seven Hells. That is, if the society won´t ostracise them altogether for having an abomination as a mother.

So the truth can never come out. As far as the world – with only a handful of exceptions – was concerned, the mother of Shireen and Rhaemma was a lowborn woman named Nyra Waters, a former handmaiden of Queen Rhaella, who had eventually risen to become the personal attendant of Princess Rhaenys. It was nothing unusual for a young, unmarried Lord to fool around with a clever, comely handmaiden, and sire bastards on her. Said bastards being raised together with their trueborn cousins was less common, but as Lord Stark of Winterfell was rumoured to be raising his bastard son among his trueborn _children,_ it was nothing unheard of. Nothing that should make anyone wonder whether or not a person named Nyra Waters really _existed_.

“What are you talking about?” Nyssë looked confused. “Jon Arryn died of natural causes… or at least I thought so until now. It _did_ happen very fast…” Her brows furrowed in sudden realisation. “Renly? Do you have something to add?”

Her brother rolled his eyes, unsurprised. Most likely, he had been waiting for it. “I didn´t kill him. I was planning to, but apparently someone else got ahead. He deserved it – he was trying to convince Robert to send Daeron to the Citadel and force him to take the maester´s vows because he feared that people would start to see our son as a better alternative to Joffrey.”

“As is anyone with half a brain, including Tommen. But why didn´t you tell me?”

“Because I _know_ you, sweet sister. You would rip out the throat of anyone who endangers your children, the consequences to be damned. It needed a more subtle approach.”

“Since when is you using your magic to rip someone to sheds any more subtle approach than me using my teeth to do just the same? And I _c_ _ould_ be subtle if I wanted to. Anyway, if neither of us killed him, then who did – if he was _indeed_ murdered? A vengeful Targaryen loyalist – but why wait for seventeen years? His wife – I don´t think that she was very fond of him? Someone who did not agree with his rule? Someone who would _love_ to take his place?”

“Tywin Lannister? He is vile enough, what is one more murder added to the hundreds already committed in his name.”

“Unlikely. Robert loathes him even more than he loathes me, it would take a hell lot of manipulation to get him to appoint him. Mother, did Stannis tell you what that conversation was about? Maybe it would give us a clue.”

“You think that whoever killed Jon Arryn would come after Stannis next?” Rhaenyra needed another glass of wine. Stannis used to complain that she drank too much. Fuck him, she had been drinking too much far before he had been _born_ and saw no reason to stop. Her life was shit, her brain was a mess and she was trapped forever to a place she did not want to be.

“I have no idea. But it does sound more likely than Stannis being the one who killed him.”

Stannis wasn´t like type to have anyone killed just because they pissed him off. Otherwise half of the Small Council, starting with the so-called king, would´ve been long dead. No, even if Jon Arryn had _really_ found out the truth, killing him would´ve been too extreme for Stannis to do. He wasn´t like her. But maybe Stannis suspected who was behind the murder and was deliberately staying away from his family to keep them safe...

“According to Jon Arryn, it´s more than odd that all Cersei Lannister´s children with the Usurper take after their mother´s side of family, while historically it tends to be Baratheon blood that breeds true… just like it is with all of his known bastards. _Black of hair, blue of eye…”_ Absentmindedly, she slipped her fingers through Rhaemma´s soft dark curls. Her daughter had abandoned her porridge for good and was now nibbling at her bread, content look on her face. Rhaenyra knew that she did not deserve her, or any of her children or grandchildren, both adopted and biological – but it felt nice to have them, even for a little while.

Rhaenyra had not told anyone yet – had wished Stannis to be the first who hears the news – but she was with a child. Her _ninth_. Nyssë would be _devastated_. Undoubtedly, her adopted daughter would be happy for her – but it would also break her heart. Nyssë was young, happily married to a man who worshipped her and desperate for another child… yet her waist remained as thin as ever, her brother´s seed refusing to take root inside her.

“Maybe they just got lucky? Personally, I wouldn´t mind _not_ looking like a younger, better-looking version of Robert Baratheon.“Renly hated that resemblance – especially when it was used as a compliment. He did not find it flattering at all.

Nyssë snorted in a very unladylike manner. “Excuse me, but did Jon Arryn forgot about Daeron? Silver- haired, indigo-eyed Daeron, who looks about as much like a Baratheon as I look like Cersei Lannister. Or he believed that _my_ children are also bastards? I think I would have noticed.” It wasn´t the first time for her adoptive daughter to hear such accusations. When she and Renly had taken then four-years old Daeron to the capital to show him off (under the guise of paying their respects to the Usurper), the presence of a little boy, who looked every part of a miniature version of Rhaegar Targaryen and no part of his dark-haired parents, had ignited several ahem...interesting rumors. Rhaenyra´s personal favourites were the one that claimed that Daeron was actually Nyssë´s brother Aegon, someone having swapped the little prince for another baby during the Sack (despite the _little_ detail that Aegon would´ve been roundly eight years older than him), and the one, according to which Nyssë had, in her desperation and need for vengeance, used dark magic to resurrect her father into a younger body. Compared to those, the idea of her having simply found someone valyrian-looking to have children with, sounded rather dull.

“You are missing the point, sister” said Renly after a brief consideration. “It isn´t really important what to _we_ think of Jon Arryn´s claims. If he was murdered for snooping around, then it is possible that there is someone out there who does _not_ find them bullshit.”

“So you believe that he may have been _right_?” asked Rhaenyra, frowning. “About Cersei Lannister´s children.”

Renly shrugged. “I don´t know. I must take a closer look at that book, to see if there are more cases of Baratheons having offspring with someone not fully human, and what did those children looked like. So far it seems that the traditional Baratheon colouring was sidelined _only_ when the other parent had some dragon blood, and rarely during the first generation. Of course, it won´t be waterproof, given that Robert – as much as he may try to deny it – _has_ dragon blood, watered down but theoretically potent enough. Not that it would explain why none of his trueborn children have any Targaryen or Blackwood traits...”

“Still, it seems a little far-fetched. And w _ay_ too good to be true – Robert having no trueborn children would solve _so_ many of our problems...”

“That´s exactly what Stannis said – it would be too good to be true. A knowledge like that must be treated carefully, or else people may start to say that he and Jon Arryn made it up to get rid of the Lannisters and usurp the throne from the rightful heir. To make _any_ sort of claim, one needs more evidence than the words written in some ancient book.”

“Like the name of Cersei Lannister´s lover?” offered Nyssë.

“It would make a great start. It has to be someone related to her, or at least someone simillar-looking for her children to look completely Lannister.”

“The court is _full_ of Lannisters, but most are too young to fit the part. It has to be someone who has been around for at least fourteen years, if not longer.”

“Or _much_ longer. Like her whole life...”

“What? You are trying to say that ser Jaime…?”

“I _don´t_ want to say it, or even _think_ about it. There have been moments… I know that he is keeping a secret – _another_ secret, it is. When I confronted him, he told me to let it go – because we could no longer be friends, should I ever figure it out. But Cersei Lannister is such a _vile_ woman and Joffrey is a goddammit _monster…_ No, I refuse to believe it.”

Nyssë had always been fond of the Lannister boy. Stannis had not approved of their friendship, suspecting him of having a crucial part of Aerys´s long-awaited demise. He had never managed to find any proof – no one had seen the Lannister anywhere close to the Mad King´s corpse and Nyssë had sworn left and right that he had been with her when Aerys had been murdered, protecting her from the man sent to kill her. Nyssë wasn´t overly concerned about Stannis finding out that she had killed Amory Lorch, but she would not risk endangering her beloved ser Lion.

Rhaenyra took her adopted daughter´s hands and squeezed them. Nyssë ´s fingers tended to start twitching whenever she was in anguish, something that bothered the young woman obsessed with keeping her emotions under control to no end “You don´t have to, it´s only an idea among many others. Just promise to keep your eyes and ears open, okay? If there is a murderer on the loose, no one could be too careful. Maybe we are all overthinking, Jon Arryn really died of natural causes and Stannis is just busy sulking about something. I will have Shireen write to him again, he can´t keep ignoring us forever. Renly, see what more you can find out about Robert´s bastard children – are they just as human as his allegedly trueborn ones? Because if even some of his other children have magic, while those with Cersei Lannister do not...”

Rhaenyra had advised Stannis to wait and think everything through, instead of just going to the Usurper with his claims. No mother could sit back and watch her children being declared bastards – he would have the whole Lannister clan at his throat, starting with the infamously cruel and ruthless patriarch. It was, if the Usurper even _believed_ him, instead of having him executed on spot for plotting against the Queen and Crown Prince. (Something _she_ would´ve likely done, once upon a time. She´d had people killed for far less.) And now her lover was missing. _Trouble, trouble, trouble…_

She should´ve known that something was to go wrong. Even with Shireen´s illness, her life had been tolerable – _good_ – for too long. But now the dread was coiling in her belly like a viper. Because if there was anything she knew well, it was the darkness… and it was coming for her family.

  


Lifetimes ago, Laenor had claimed that she spent so much time imagining every possible horrible outcome that in the end, they had no other choice than to come true. Rhaenyra could not recall what exactly she had answered – probably something along the lines that someone _had_ to, and since he lacked the required brain capacity, it was her job to do it. He had been right, in a way – ever since she could remember, she had always aspired to be seem as perfect. Perfect princess, perfect daughter, perfect wife, perfect mother… _perfect, perfect, perfect._

Rhaenyra wondered sometimes, during the cold nights when Stannis was away, if her fate would´ve been different, had she not _tried_ so hard. Been content with what she had – what had not been so little at all – instead of hating Laenor for what he could not give her. It had been just as much of his fault as hers, but she had been young, and foolish, and too caught up in her own pain to spare a moment to consider that maybe he was hurting too. In the dark, faced with each of her mistakes, she wished that there was a way for her to take back the horrid things she had accused him of. Laenor had not been a bad person, had loved their children and on his own way, even her… but instead of even _trying_ to be happy, she had kept constantly reminding herself that he did not _want_ her, and rejection had not been something her younger self could swallow. Rhaenyra had been _so_ fucking talented in making his life a living hell that eventually, he had chosen _literal_ Hell over a life with her.

  


# # #

  


“No.”

Blue eyes met lilac with identical determination. “Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

_You reap what you sow._ When Rhaenyra had been a young girl, Alicent had been always bitching about her being too opinionated, so she had, out of spite, vowed to raise her children to have even more opinions. Looking back, probably not her smartest move, as each of said children had grown up to absolutely _love_ expressing those opinions at every given chance. Had her hair not been naturally silver blonde, they would´ve turned her gray long before she was thirty.

She was two hundred and three now, and in danger of losing an argument with an eleven years old. “No.”

“Yes. Elenei is allowed to go, and she is two years younger than me.”

“I am not _her_ mother, but yours. If I had any illusions that she would listen, I _would_ forbid Nyssë, but unfortunately she is an adult and therefore free to do as she pleases, no matter how stupid her plan may be. Thousands of miles into enemy territory and for what – to meet some Northern lord who has every reason to hate Targaryens.” Nyssë believed that Eddard Stark could make a useful friend to have around. Rhaenyra had her doubts – she had known a Stark once, and had not found him particularly malleable. Honourable and competent, yes, but not someone with a stomach for plotting.

But there really was no way of stopping Nyssë once she had made up her mind, and where his sister went, Renly was bound to follow, children in tow.

“Someone _has_ to keep an eye on Elenei, or else she will punch the first person who calls Dae or ´Laena a dragonspawn. Which is stupid, since as their sister she is just as much of a dragonspawn as they are, yet no one calls _her_ that.”

Because Elenei took after Elia Martell, while her siblings looked as valyrian as they came. It had always been easy for the crowd to simplify things like that: silver hair – dragonspawn, dark hair – _not_ a dragonspawn. Except for of course Robert Baratheon, who had never discriminated between his nieces and nephews – to him, they were _all_ dragonspawn, as were both Nyssë and Renly. The Usurper _really_ wasn´t that creative when it came to insults.

“The answer is still no. Elenei does not need a nursemaid – she is old enough to learn some self-control. Besides, both Elaena and Jace would be there.”

_Daeron too_ , but Rhaenyra did not think that it had ever occurred sweet, bookish Daeron to even attempt to try to rein his wild sisters. Usually it would fall to Elaena, the more sensible of the two, but lately…

Jace had looked _way_ too pleased about having a chance to visit Winterfell again for it to be a sincere curiosity. She could almost hear the gears in his head working, generating another brilliant, revolutionary idea… To be completely honest, Rhaenyra had never been able to decide whether or not she even _wanted_ to know what exactly was going on on that brain of his.

“As if Elaena is not going to wander off as soon as she gets bored, with Jace following her at the first chance he gets. Or they are going to drop the pretence in the first place and sneak away _together_.”

“Jace swore that there is nothing improper between them.”

“Then my genius of a brother is the only one at Dragonstone who has no idea. Or he lied to you.”

“ _Enough._ I will not have you making it sound as if your brother and cousin are engaged in some illicit affair.” It was extremely unlike Shireen to be so spiteful, especially towards Elaena, who had always been her dearest friend. But the ongoing absence of her father was evidently starting to take its toll on her. For years, her poor girl had blamed herself for Stannis leaving them when she was very young, believing that he would´ve married Rhaenyra, had there not been her disfigurement. And every time he stayed away longer than usual, old insecurities tended to resurface. “My answer is final. You will be staying at Dragonstone.”

“Is it because I am a bastard?”

“Eddard Stark has a bastard son of his own – one he is rumoured to be raising among his trueborn children – so I really doubt that he would care overmuch.” Cersei Lannister likely would, but Rhaenyra was in no mood to care about the whims of some brother-fucking Lannister tart. Being a Targaryen, she couldn´t have cared less about the brother-fucking part – even if Rhaenyra herself would not have touched her two oldest half-brothers with a ten-feet pole and if Jace´s account was to be believed, her third son had successfully managed to maintain a romantic friendship with the third one right under their noses – but according to every source she could get her hands on, the woman was a raging bitch.

Jace had been fascinated with the North and how its customs differed from the rest of the Westeros, save Dorne. _So much_ , that her son had, at the ripe age of sixteen, been drafting up laws to reform both the juridical and educational sector...but he had died before he´d had a chance to put the majority of his ideas into use, and she had, in her incompetence and paranoia, later effectively nullified each and every of his accomplishments.

“Is it because of… _that_ , then?” Shireen pointed to the silvery scales starting from her left cheek and ending on her elbow, vivid against her raven hair and dark clothes. There were other patches all over her body, but that one was the most prominent. Humans saw them as scars – Rhaenyra had actually asked maester Cressen, one of the very few human whose company she tolerated and who tolerated her in turn – similar enough with those left by an illness called _“greyscale”_ to be mistaken as such by those who did not know what they were really seeing.

It angered Rhaenyra, to have people say what a pity it was, that there were such horrid scars marring her daughter ´s otherwise lovely face (because a girl was worth something only when she was conventionally pretty) – there was _no_ damn thing wrong with Shireen.

“I don´t give a rat´s ass about what some Northerns may think about your looks. You are perfect because you are _my_ baby. And I can´t risk with anything happening to you.”

That was the elephant at the room – Shireen´s illness. Rhaenyra tried to avoid talking or even thinking about it, as if admitting that she could lose her tomorrow or the next year was somehow making it more real. It was one of the most painful things she had ever witnessed, watching her daughter being slowly and excruciatingly killed by her own defective magic.

“I am _fine_ , as fine as I can ever be. There have been no attacks for a week now, and we both know that I may not have very long left. Nyssë promised to take me to meet maester Aemon of the Night´s Watch, the brother of Aegon the Unlikely. He is _a hundred_ years old.”

“And you _will_ , mark my words.” _If not in this world, then in the one that comes next._ ”But not now, when you just got out of the sickbed. It would take nearly half a _year_ to travel to the North and back home on horseback – look me in the eye and swear that you have enough strength for it. Both the Wall and Winterfell have stood for eight thousand years, they will surely stand a few more. And it isn´t as if Daeron won´t be writing you a fifty page long rapport.” Ever since Daeron had learnt to write – and she to read, he´d had a habit to carefully note down everything of interest he saw or heard while travelling with his parents to be shared with her at the first chance he got.

“A _hundred_ page long.“

Knowing her grandson, Rhaenyra wouldn´t be too surprised if the rapport would end up being _two_ hundred pages long.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Jace" mentioned in this chapter is indeed Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaenyra´s eldest son. Both the story behind his reunion with his mother and his current intentions will be revealed in time, because he and a cetain young lady are indeed very much up to something. We will also see a flashback about what made Shireen so bitter about the whole matter.
> 
> Next time: the gang reaches Winterfell, Ned Stark gets a fright, Benjen Stark gets suspicious and Jon Snow encounters a goddess.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please review!


	7. Author´s note

I am rewriting several chapters to keep up with how the story has evolved in my head.


	8. Author´s note 2

The story is on hiatus. I love writing it, but my current health does not allow me to spend enough time and energy for it. I hate to think about giving up on it for good, but currently i have written only about a page of several upcoming chapters. If anyone has questions about already posted chapters, I would happily answer to them.

Until we meet again  
EmmaAelin


	9. Snippets!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several stories of survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate the beginning of the holiday season, here are some out of context snippets from upcoming chapters.

Last time Ned Stark had seen Rhaenys Targaryen, she had been a little girl covered with the blood of her would´ve-been-killer, and screaming. Afterwards, when the dust had settled and his new reality had sunk in, he had done his best to forget everything and everyone about that horrible day, both for his sanity´s sake and to be able to still think of Robert as a brother and friend.  
It did not mean that he had not thought about the girl and what her future may be like – if there even was a future for her. Ned had not felt brave enough to approach Robert on that matter, even by a letter. There was already too much bad blood between them. As much as the loss of his foster brother hurt him, it was for the best if they were to led separate lives from now on. He had a past to bury and children to raise. 

Never in all his days had Ned imagined the possibility of facing her again, at Winterfell of all the places in Westeros. If anything, it should have been the last place for a Targaryen to go. But apparently the Princess of Dragonstone, now a woman grown with children older than she had been seventeen years ago, was not the sort of a person to do what was expected of her. Because right now she was sitting only a couple of feet from him, impeccably dressed, bloodless and smiling, deep in a conversation with a somewhat perplexed Benjen.   
Robert had failed to see the resemblance, had even commented about how much Jon looked like Ned. The boy had looked like him, as a baby, but was starting to do it less and less with what felt like by every following day. His features had become just a little too delicate, his colouring just a little too dark for a Stark. The time was running out. Jon had to go.   
According to Robert, Rhaenys Targaryen was nothing but a self-absorbed little bitch whose greatest qualities were her teats. A dragon with clipped wings, an exotic pet to be paraded around. Harmless.

# # #

Frowning, Nyssë turned over a pair of earrings on her palm. Rubies. Like the ones that fell into the Trident when Robert Baratheon crushed her father´s chest with his accursed warhammer.   
It had been a gift, delicately slipped into her hand by Lord Raymun as the royal party prepared to depart Darry. A promise, to when the time comes, to help pay back every drop of blood.  
It should have pleased her, to know that there were others who had not moved on with their lives, but instead she felt nothing. In truth, it was getting harder and harder to feel anything at all. She was tired, so-so tired.  
And nowhere nearer to solving the riddle as she had been all those years ago when she had dreamed of him for the first time. There appeared to be nothing unusual about Jon Snow, beside the lack of known mother and birth date…, no scratch it – she was yet to meet another person who had no idea about when he had been born. Even the children of the smallfolk celebrated their namedays, but for the son of a lord to be unaware of such self-evident detail… strange, to say the least.   
Of course, it was entirely possible that Eddard Stark did not know it either. Perhaps the mother had died at birth or shortly afterwards and there had been no one around to inform him. There had, after all, been a war going on.  
She wasn´t sure why the lack of answers bothered her so. In the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered, especially since the boy was intent of joining the Night´s Watch. Stupid child, it was no place for a boy of seventeen, who had a whole life ahead of him. She could have given much for such freedom – but her fate had been set the moment her father had decided to throw it all away for a girl not even ten years older than his own daughter.  
Nyssë pressed her nails deep into her palm. She was not going to cry, not surrounded by those people and inside the walls used to house the girl her father had chosen over his children, the youngest an infant. Because of what his actions started, Aegon would always be a baby...and she could never be anything more than a monster.  
Lyanna fucking Stark. Half of Nyssë´s conversation with Benjen Stark had been spent wondering whether or not he resembled his sister. Had Lyanna Stark really been beautiful enough to have been worth it?  
Perhaps she had resembled her nephew. Either that, or Jon Snow´s mother must´ve been a great beauty, because he surely had not inherited his looks from his father. Nyssë would have very much not minded seeing him without those thick clothes of his. It was a tantalizing thought – corrupting that good, innocent boy, the nephew of the one who had stolen her father´s love and the son of the one who had helped to steal her crown. She doubted that it would take much time – she´d always had her way with men, and quite frankly, she was the best thing he could ever dream of getting. If not for vengeance, then for her brother´s sake – taking Ned Stark´s pretty bastard to bed would cheer Renly up after that unfortunate business with ser Loras. Renly was a fool, to wear his heart on his sleeve like this.

# # #

Rhaenyra had been a person once. Maybe not the best kind of a person, but still someone real. But it had been a very long time ago and she was slowly starting to forget what it had felt like.  
Sometimes years would pass without her notice, lost in a world long gone, and yet her skin remained soft and her mouth red. Men still sought her company, equally fascinated by her beauty and her tragedy. She smiled serenely, permitted them to kiss her hand – and on rare occasions, her lips – and accepted their gifts, because she was a goddess and goddesses were to be worshipped. Rhaenyra Targaryen, the queen of blood and goddess of fiery death…. Gods, what had become of her?  
She never bothered to memorize their names and faces – they were all the same to her, dead before she had started to miss their praises and soon replaced with others. It was not a life, but it mattered little, since she had already been dead for years before Sunfyre came along. That her heart kept beating was nothing but an inconvenience.

Until Rhaella. Rhaenyra had never been fond of that weak, mousey woman that hardly deserved the name Targaryen. But blood was blood and she had come when asked, since the poor thing was dying. Rhaenyra could hardly blame her for letting go – had she had the capability to die, she would have happily done the same. She had even wondered briefly if that´s why Rhaella who liked her just as little had called her – to gloat that her suffering was to end, while Rhaenyra´s will never do.  
When Rhaella had made her demand – Rhaenyra had to save Renly and Nyssë (What damn kind of a name was Nyssë? The girl´s name was Rhaenys! The whelp should be honoured to be named after the strongest, bravest person Rhaenyra had ever known), her two eldest grandchildren who had apparently managed to survive the massacre and were being kept captive in the Red Keep – Rhaenyra had laughed to her face.   
How was she, who had never brought anything but death and suffering on everyone she had ever cared about, to save anyone? Besides, if two of Rhaegar´s brats were indeed somehow still alive – something she had little faith in, having heard rumors about the sack of King´s Landing that were terrible enough to move even her cold, iron heart – they would better off dead, since life was shit.  
Rhaella had slapped her for that. Had Rhaenyra forgotten that she had once been a mother too? Wouldn´t she have done whatever it takes to try and save her children, however weak the chances of succeeding were? No, she had not.   
Rhaenyra had went to her doom believing that all her children but one were dead and she had not expected Aegon to survive for long afterwards. So she had refused to beg, even for him, content with the belief that they were to be reunited soon in a better word. She had never seen any of her sons again.  
Rhaenyra did not believe in forgiveness or redemption and was far too old and jaded to have any hope for escaping her cursed half-life. The only way she desired to deal with any Baratheon was by stabbing them in the neck and watching them bleed out. Within any right, she should have told Rhaella where to shove her attempts to guilt her into anything and returned to her beloved dead. What happened to Rhaella´s grandchildren was no business of hers, in few decades they would be history, just like everyone else she had ever known.  
Yet something had forced her to hesitate.

# # # 

Stannis watched Rhaenyra pick up a powder compact from the dressing table, consider it for a moment before putting the compact down to choose another one. How she could spend that many hours grooming was beyond his comprehension, as it felt like an utterly pointless waste of time and resources. As if there weren´t more useful things to do than powder her nose and pick out the right necklace to wear. He could only hope that Shireen had not inherited her mother´s frivolous tendencies, or his daughter would bankrupt him for sure.   
It was bad enough that Shireen idolized her half-brother. One could see from a mile away that Lucerys was bad news – quarrelsome and deprived, eager to pick fights with everyone he comes across. Hellborn brat – having had the misfortune to encounter the creature that had once been the boy´s father, Stannis could not understand how anyone could have ever doubted of him being Laenor Velaryon´s get. Both were madder than the Mad King had been.  
Stannis wished that Shireen could have someone better to keep her company than a mad brother and a peculiar sister. The older she got, the more he worried about her future. Shireen was his heir, a Baratheon if not by name, she should be living at Storm´s End with him, not at Dragonstone where everything reeked of madness and degradation. Robert had suggested him to take the girl away from her mother, have her fostered by a Baratheon bannerman… but how could he do such thing to Rhaenyra?   
To Rhaenyra, of who, he was starting to realize, he had never known at all. 

“Few weeks ago, Jon Arryn came to see me in what he claimed to be an urgent matter of great delicacy, presenting me with a book. “The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms” A rather dull read, except for one interesting detail. As far as the records go, all children born from the union of a Baratheon and a Lannister have had the colouring of the House Baratheon – black of hair, blue of eye. Except for the children of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister, who all take after their mother with their blond hair and green eyes.”  
“Children looking like their mother, such a novel concept,” muttered Rhaenyra, powdering her face. It made her look like a marble statue – cold and perfect. “And? I assume there is a point in this story, other than to prove that Jon Arryn is even more of a bore than I expected him to be?”  
“He believes that the queen has been cuckolding Robert, making her children bastards.”  
“Because they look like their goddamn mother? People in this century are truly insane. I couldn´t care less about Cersei Lannister and her brats, but to accuse someone of infidelity based on something as ridiculous as that… Doesn´t lord Arryn have anything better to do with his time, like, perhaps, try to keep the fat oaf calling himself king from bankrupting Westeros? The Iron throne is deeper in debt than it was during my time, and I was waging war with half the kingdoms. What´s his excuse? In seventeen years, your brother has managed to empty the treasury more thoughtfully than any ruler since that disgusting, lecherous imbecile I refuse to call my grandson.”  
Stannis frowned. “National debt is a matter of security and was supposed to stay inside the council chamber. It could be considered a treason for Renly to openly discuss it with uninvolved people.”  
“Renly is a good boy, he means no harm by indulging his dear old mother every so often. Besides, he asked me to check if his calculations were true – he has some suspicions about where the money really goes, because not even Robert Baratheon could possibly spend that much. It seems to me that you may have a little problem with embezzlement. Namely by one Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin and the protegee of no other than Jon Arryn himself. Such a shame, really. No wonder that he would start desperately look for anything to turn the attention away from him and his inadequacy.”  
“Are you calling the Hand of the King a liar?” Stannis felt his belief falter for a moment. Littlefinger was a slimy bastard that should have never risen that far – but treason in such magnitude? And honourable Jon Arryn grasping at the straws to save his own skin? No, Renly must have been wrong, his hatred making him see things that were not there. Such thing simply could not have been going on right under their noses for a decade.  
Rhaenyra shrugged, uninterested. “I am not. But don´t you find it all that convenient – Jon Arryn loathes the Lannisters growing influence at the court, so suddenly he discovers something that has the power to both destroy his enemies and keep him in the Usurper´s good grace, even if his error of judgement should ever become public? I have known men like that. It is not a crime for children to look like a parent or a grandparent.”  
“But cuckolding the King and denying him rightful heirs is. It is my duty as the King´s brother to find out the truth and see the culprits punished, no matter what my personal feelings about the subject may be.”  
“Fine, do as you wish. But be very, very careful. You may believe Jon Arryn to be your ally, but do not trust him. He is not a good man and I do not want him anywhere near my children. Whatever interest he has in Rhaemma, it has to cease.”

# # #

Once the realization of what had happened to him – that he can never go home again – had settled in, Jace had allowed himself to grieve for a night. Grieve for himself, for Vermax, for his family, for everyone he had known and the life that had used to be. He had spent the night, standing alone at the deck of the ship and screaming into the night. In the morning, he had forced himself to wipe away his tears, put on a smile and let it go, even if it had been the hardest thing he had ever done.  
Because he was going to survive. It could not be the end, there had to still be some kind of a future for him. One day, he was going to be happy again.  
He wanted to live. In the darkest depth of his despair, Jace had wondered if it was traitorous and ungrateful of him, to still yearn to live, when everyone he loved was dead. Whether or not it had been his selfish desire that had given him enough strength to force himself back to the surface and breathe, breathe. Whether or not this life was a punishment.  
Either way, he was alive and had every intention to remain so. Even with his name, fortunes and future prospects gone, he was still a person, was still Jace. That was something no one could take away from him. He was brave, smart and knew how to make people agree with him. Wherever he went, whatever he chose to do, he would be good at it. His life was not over.

One foot in front of the other. In and out. Over and over, until it becomes natural again. Months passed, before he was strong enough to take more than a couple of steps at the time, when the slightest excitement no longer sent him into violent coughing fits. There was nothing to do about his lungs – they had clearly suffered permanent damage from inhaling and coughing out what had felt like a bucket of cold, salty water. It was a miracle that he still had the ability to speak, that he had not gone blind or lost his mind from the lack of oxygen. Maybe he had been lucky after all. Besides, if both Alyn and Baela had not only survived, but had managed to live full lives with their burns, how dare he to moan about weak lungs and aching legs? Vanity, nothing more.

One foot in front of the other. In and out. He had survived, and before he could even notice, surviving had become living. He would sometimes still wake screaming, feeling like his lungs were on fire, and he still missed the sky – was likely to miss it for the rest of his days, however long they may be – but the loss of Vermax no longer felt like an open wound. There was enough that made the life worth living – people to meet, sights to see, books to read, plans to make. He was still young, who knows what the future may bring?

But... Despite all his talents, there was one enemy Jace felt utterly helpless against. The hateful stranger wearing his brother´s face.  
He had been overjoyed to find Luke alive and well – he could still hear mother´s screams when presented with a putrefying, disfigured corpse, all that was supposedly left of her most beloved son – but the answer to his tearful hug had been a punch in the face. Luke wanted nothing to do with him. Would have in fact probably preferred him dead.  
With not even a year between them, he and Luke had been inseparable as children. But Luke was gone, just like Joff and Aegon and Viserys and Baela and Rhaena were gone. The only difference was that he had left his ghost behind. The Luke that had been his brother had had the biggest, warmest heart. This Luke was awful. And since Luke was their parents´s child through and through, it came naturally to him. For if there was one thing Rhaenyra and Laenor had in common, it was their capability of being really awful, often to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I wish I could say when I am going to update again, but I have no idea. Until then, happy holidays from Estonia!


End file.
